


who

by WisdomPearl



Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: 108 defilements, Asano Gakushuu Needs A Hug, Asano Gakushuu-centric, Edgy, Gen, club submission, crosspost, desires, dream - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29116506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WisdomPearl/pseuds/WisdomPearl
Summary: Gakushuu ponders about humanity and in the process, learns just a little bit more about himself. But it seems like everything he went through in this self-analysis seems to lead to more confusion.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	who

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhhh, I mention the 108 Defilements of Buddhism in this a little, but I'm not extremely versed in it. So if there is a problem, please let me know nicely!
> 
> Warning: edge :)

It goes without saying that every human is imperfect in their own way. Sometimes, those imperfections are shared among large groups of similarly-minded individuals, other times, people find themselves lonely and suffering because of their imperfections. Gakushuu knew that better than anyone else.

Everywhere, all around him, imperfections infected the world like a silent, deadly plague. Of course, no one was exempt from such a phenomenon. Everyone had something to hide, something to fight for, and something to die from. It was not a matter of pity or rage, it was simply the nature of humans that mere words could not grasp.

Jealousy, mercilessness, obsession, impudence, the desire for fame, they swept their powerful winds across the world of the wealthy and influential. Strategies were made, missions were set, yet as others suffered, the perpetrators gained something more. Something, something…

Was it human nature? Perhaps, Asano thought, as he thought about the middle class problems. Dipsomania, dissatisfaction, gluttony, greed, hypocrisy, the list goes on. While Asano often considered himself to be above the middle class, he couldn’t help but wonder why he shared many of the same vices as said class. Perhaps it was the concept of shared imperfections he pondered about earlier. Or maybe it was under the same umbrella, but a different branch.

The poor class was pitiful for quite obvious reasons to him. But in his area, violence, wrath, gambling, envy, cursing, anger, it was saturated into the minds of some of the groups. As much as he wished to find someone nice among the streets, he was often greeted with poisonous glares. Was it envy? Jealousy? Weren’t they the same thing?

Asano often pondered about humans in general. It was perfect enough since he was one of their kind. He had plenty of brain space to wonder as he stared amongst the trees in the chilly forest he found himself in.

Looking up, he saw the dark navy sky looming over him, dots speckling the darkened night. Shadows casted its influence upon the undersides of the tree leaves and came to rest upon the grass that crunched under Asano’s heels. It was a dark forest, yet he still had nearly perfect eyesight. The moon cowardly hid behind the treetops, so it couldn’t be that. Figuring that it must be his eyes adjusting to the darkness faster than usual, he trekked along.

Where was he going? He wasn’t entirely sure of himself either. His feet seemed to walk on its own, touring him through trees and moss and rocks. There were no animals, only the silent plants and shadows that seemed to mimic a crude impression of an animal. Asano wasn’t fooled.

Why would you be fooled into thinking something was real, when it was?

The further and further he stepped, the more the voices grew, emanating like waves from the shadows as they danced across the green floor. They whispered incoherent thoughts, thoughts that did not sting his ears, but filled his head like an invisible syringe.

This was fine. He was content. It couldn’t get worse than this. Surely, surely-!

Then the voices stopped.

They...stopped?

Why?

Asano felt a pressing loneliness dragging his heart down into his guts. Guilt pushed him on the back, knocking what little breath he had. Why? Was it because he was egoistic about his ability to handle it?

Come to think of it, wasn’t that one of the 108 defilements?

He shook his head. It had to be a coincidence. Just because he pondered and wondered and theorized and picked apart at a subject, it was just in his head. They wouldn’t be able to materialize from a simple, mindless thought, right? It’s just a coincidence.

No one was free from these supposed misconducts and earthly desires. Everyone went through them, no matter their social status, beliefs, or identity. It’s universal, yet why did Asano feel as if he were being punished for them?

Or was it all in his head?

Questions after questions. They bombarded him without his knowledge, much less his consent. His head was filled with rage and grief and every emotion known to mankind. His vision spun like a carousel, his balance shifted one too many centimeters, he felt his arms take the brunt of the fall. The fall did not hurt, but he was too nauseous to feel that sort of pain. He wanted to cry, vomit, laugh, repeat, but nothing came out. To a third party, he was simply dizzy, or having a breakdown.

Despite the questions that presented themselves in his voice, he felt extremely lonely. No longer were the shadows in his audience. It was just him and the voices that spewed questions like an arterial blood spray. 

He wanted the questions to stop. He secretly wanted to. But he did not want to explicitly think about that desire, for he feared a greater punishment.

After a while, the voices seemed to subside, the questions lingering like germs in the space of his head. But the nauseous feelings died away some time, long ago. Time was a concept: he no longer kept track of the seconds using his footsteps, his rhythmic footsteps. He no longer felt the need to count the minutes that had passed since the onslaught of terror.

”You overthink too much.”

A voice softly whispered from beyond the trees, hidden within the veil of shadows that plagued the forest around him. The trees bent away from Asano’s touch as he staggered up to an upright position. His head spun slightly from the distress, but he regained balance, without the help of any external sources.

”Who are you?”

”Oh, for my sake, why does everyone ask this? It’s useless. What do you want me to say?” the voice sounded exasperated, “Let’s just leave it at ‘I don’t have time to entertain your robotic information gathering center’ alright?”

Asano could almost tch if he had the mental capacity to comprehend the audacity of the voice, “Okay okay, what do you want?”

”Nothing. I don’t even know why I’m here. It’s not like I’m your savior or anything. You don’t even come to me for help, so why bother?”

It was slightly aggravating, hearing the voice rant on and on about its troubles and dealings with “everyone” he’s met so far. Asano couldn’t even form complete thoughts at the moment, let alone try to communicate with a picky son of a-

”Bitch? You know, for an upright, obedient son, you have a pretty sharp tongue.”

Asano scoffed, “So you’re the one reading my thoughts, huh?”

”No, you’re the one telling me them, and I have no choice but to listen to your whining and incapability to figure out who I am.”

Asano rolled his eyes, “Sure sure, okay. But doesn’t everyone whine a lot?”

”Not to you.”

”Why does that matter to you?”

”It matters because I’m the one who has to deal with your shenanigans and schemes! Obviously, if you’re going to hyper-analyze everyone you meet, I’m gonna have to listen to your rambles and everything from psychology to physiology to emotional cues and stability. You know how annoying it is to have to go through that?”

It was quite obvious that this wasn’t a real person. Asano never voiced his opinions of others in such a concrete fashion, much less in such an annoyingly frequent interval. But what was it? What entity possessed his body and claims not to possess him? Who else was left? What else was left?

”And the whole thing about earthly desires and whatnot, you gotta stop over-analyzing it.”

”Oh okay, and what can you do about it? I’m gonna think about it regardless. It’s not like I do it often.”

”Yeah yeah, but it’s really annoying. It wasn’t my choice to be stuck in this godforsaken place!”

”You act like I have any say in what happens to you! I don’t even know you! I can’t help you if I don’t even know who I’m helping!”

”I don’t need you to help me, I need you to shut the fuck up!”

It wasn’t a particularly new situation for Asano to be in. He often ran into gangs on the streets who were looking to pick a fight, or addicts who wanted money from him and chose the aggressive strategy. But this particular feeling, this bone-chilling sensation, it coursed through his veins and down his spine like a cold chill.

There was a small period of silence that shot through the air like the crack of a whip. The leaves stopped rustling under the wind’s hand, the grass didn’t crunch under unexpected movement, and the trees no longer groaned from the weight of nothing. It was so quiet that it stung, almost like a sharp pain.

”You can stop acting all high and mighty, you know.”

Asano’s ears perked up. High and mighty? Not once had he ever thought about himself in such an offensive light, so naturally his gut reflex was to reply, “What are you talking about?”

If Asano could pinpoint the location of the voice, he could imagine it staring him straight into his face with a disapproved face, “You know exactly what I’m talking about, whether you accept that part of you or not.”

Asano did not retort. It wasn’t due to pride or dignity: he simply had no retort. Nothing could escape his lips. While his brain still hadn’t processed a correct response, it was his throat that kicked him the hardest. It was not in pain or discomfort, but an invisible hand seemed to wrap its delicate fingers around it, preventing him from uttering sounds, much less comprehensive words.

”This is pathetic.” The voice seemed to grumble from the shadows, “Whatever. I don’t care. Don’t think too much about it, not that you ever have.”

A sensation of indignation rose from Asano’s chest as he sharply inhaled. This voice dared to order him on how he should think? If it weren’t for his weakness currently, Asano definitely would’ve been hunting down this mysterious entity with a burning passion.

”Who are you?” Asano figured that now was a weak point, noticing how the voice seemed to shake at the last message, tapering off at the end volume-wise. 

There it was again, that cracking silence and eerie whine resonating from within his ear. Everything was completely still, like a higher power pressed the off-switch. He could barely hear his heartbeat over the buzz in his ear.

”You know who I am.”

”But that’s just it. I don’t, which is why I’m asking right now.”

The voice was silent again, but the trees started to rustle with more liveliness. The grass seemed to perk up with more life, as if that simple statement awoke the life in the forest. Everything seemed to listen in and silently await the answer that Asano hoped for.

”I am you.”

What was this, a movie? Thoughts swirled around in his head like a torrent of feelings and ideas. Everything that the voice had said before both made more sense, but he seemed to drift away from reason and logic all at once. It made perfect sense, but then it didn’t. It was a tug-of-war of logic and reasoning.

Sure, some of the statements lined up fine with the voice being himself. But the voice was different, a little sassier in a way. The speech was almost unlike anything he’d ever said. Yet, somehow, he felt that part of him inside himself, in some strange and unidentifiable way.

”I am the you that you wanted. The you that you desired and wanted. The you that you kept inside your head as a vessel to soak up the bad emotions and thoughts so that you wouldn’t have to deal with them on your own. You’re sick.”

The voice stayed in the shadows, but Asano could tell that it was closer, louder, more prominent. Asano had no words for that accusation. If it were true, then, maybe things made more sense.

”So, in other words, I am you, but not really you. I can no longer tell whether or not you truly identify yourself with me or you push me away as some tool you’ll need later. And at this point, I no longer care. It's been a while, and you’ve not once acknowledged the pain you pressed onto me in this forsaken forest.”

The ground seemed to sink under Asano’s feet, the mushy grass wrapping around his ankles and pulling him further into the dirt. The voice watched from the darkness as Asano was pulled deeper and deeper until nothing was left of him but his memory.

The voice kept watching the silent patch, grass regrowing faster than weeds. There was no point, he thought, as he stared into the ground that repatched itself. That Asano would wake up anyway. And he would continue to flow more useless and ignorant thoughts into him, funneling and filtering them until only the rawest and cruelest of thoughts remained. And the voice would have to put up with it.

The voice tch-ed in unamusement and retreated back into its shadow, loneliness wafted around him like wisps of smoke. The thoughts desires surfaced alongside the other Asano’s consciousness, but they were not desires for outstanding achievement or desires to run away and escape the hellhole he was brought into.

It was the desire to know who he really was.

**Author's Note:**

> HAHA I DON'T KNOW WHAT I JUST WROTE BUT IT'S THERE AND WE'RE ROLLING WITH IT I GUESS *screech*
> 
> So, who do you think was actually talking? Is it the Asano we think we were following or the one he keeps in the back of his head?
> 
> This is so edgy I'm so sorry.


End file.
